Healing
by sauce of awesome
Summary: To mend the broken bond between you and I.
1. Waking

Drip...

Drip...

Drip...

The constant feel of those drops on his skin annoys him, especially since it woke him up. Which is strange in of itself, because he doesn't recall falling asleep.

Where are those infernal drops coming from, anyway?

Slowly, he cracks open his eyes, only to shut them again a second later. It hurts.

The numbness from sleep is retreating, and the pain is settling in. It starts as a dull ache, but its intensity grows rapidly until it's robbing him of breath, leaving him gasping. His eyes are on fire. If only he could get his arms to respond, he could be clawing them out instead.

A cool hand settles over his face, before he feels a warmth. He can see a green glow behind his eyelids, and he sighs with relief as the pain subsides. Now that it has receded, he can tell that he's been hurt in other places as well.

So he hadn't slept at all, it seems. He must have passed out instead.

Hesitantly, he opens his eyes again. He can only see a blur of black and green and pink.

"Stay with me." A voice so hauntingly familiar pleads, but he still can't place it. It wobbles and breaks as it continues. "Please, just stay with me."

Does he even have an option? He couldn't move a bone in his body, how is he supposed to go anywhere? How stupid.

He tries to tell the voice this too, but nothing more than a wheeze of air passes his lips. He suddenly feels drained of energy, and gives into the temptation of sleep, even with the constant annoyance of those drops that taste salty.


	2. Dreaming

He dreams of her for the first time in a long time.

The sun peaks through the canopy of leaves above them, and she is sitting in a ray of light. Her skin glows warmly. Her hair is cropped at her chin and blows in the breeze. Her hands are busy weaving a chain of flowers. Everything feels softer around her, and he feels lighter than he has in years just by looking at her.

Clear jade eyes snap up to focus on him.

Judging by the baby fat around her face, she must be around twelve. He hasn't thought of the girl in a long time, not since he's seen the woman she has become (—the one he hardly knows, the one whose throat he can still feel in his grasp—), but he realizes with a start that he's missed her.

His heart lurches unexpectedly at the way her eyes shine with that familiar adoration. It's just as nostalgic as the subtle curve of her lips, a smile that has always belonged to him (—before she gave it to Naruto, before he left it all behind—).

He hasn't seen that gaze or that smile in a long time.

She beckons to him. His feet plod steadily in the grass, but every step forward makes him want to take two steps back. But that sort of cowardice disgusts him, so he shakes off the feeling the best he can. When he reaches her, he drops down on his knees.

She looks up at him as he towers over her. Unlike her, he is still his sixteen year old self (—not the boy she loves, not the boy who could have loved her—). She stands up, dusting herself off with a free hand. In her other hand, she holds her wreath. She meets his eyes before dropping the garland on his head, trying to hold back her mirth but failing. He glares at her (—but a bit halfheartedly, because really, when was the last time he'd seen her so happy?—), and she has the decency to try to appease him. She smooths her small hands over his cheeks, and looks the tiniest bit sorry.

He drops his glare because her caress feels like a mother's touch, and his chest aches.

A hand reaches up to grab one of hers. He considers gripping it until he can feel her bones creak under his fingers, because she frustrates him. He may be able to read her like an open book, but he can hardly make sense of her. But before he can make his decision, she tugs their joined hands closer to her, and places his hand on her chest. He feels the even rhythm of her heart, beating in time with his.

"This belongs to you," she says in a voice that belongs to someone four years her senior.

The world around them has darkened, and only the patch of land where she stands is illuminated. Harsh shadows are cast over her face, and her skin glows a sickly blue, washing out her natural coloring. He looks down to ascertain the light source, and is surprised to find the hand over—through—her chest is encased in his _Chidori_. Her blood runs warm over his palm and down his wrist, soaking the sleeve of his shirt. He looks up to her face, and sees that she has aged to sixteen now, and instead of adoration, her eyes shimmer with betrayal.

His crown of flowers falls to the ground, brittle and broken.

When he wakes, it is to a white, tiled ceiling. He is only awake for a few moments, though, since the anesthesia hasn't quite worn off. In the end, he doesn't remember his dream beyond a feeling of inexplicable emptiness in his heart.


	3. Interlude

In the moments between sleeping and waking, he imagines her with him.

He imagines her brushing the bangs from his face. He imagines her fingers lingering over his skin after the glow of chakra fades away. He imagines her hand slipping into his.

He imagines her lips, pressed softly against his forehead.

Whenever he opens his eyes, he finds no one else in the room. Just him and a single daffodil, left forgotten on the table.

He is revolted by the pang of disappointment he feels.


	4. Talking

"So, you're finally awake."

He's been caught conscious, and by one of the people he least desires to talk to. Not that he wants to talk to anyone, anyway.

He doesn't respond, which makes her huff out a breath in irritation.

"How do you feel?" She asks, but not out of concern or common courtesy.

His eyes itch, but shooting pain blurs his vision every time he rubs at them. Cuts and bruises litter his body. His left arm, previously bent in an unnatural way, is in a sling. There are bandages across his torso, covering a gaping hole drilled into him by a blond moron.

He slides his eyes over to her. His throat is dry and his voice cracks as he rasps out, "Been better."

She understands his unspoken request, and fills a nearby disposable cup with water. Her hand cups the back of his head and raises it up a bit, before she pushes the drink to his lips. As the water slides down his throat, he thinks he's never tasted anything better.

She drops his head back onto the pillow, and throws out the cup. "You brats really did a number on each other. Both of you should be dead."

Her voice is unwavering, but he can see the tightness of her eyes and the almost unnoticeable quivering of her hands. He is certain that if he had survived and Naruto had not, they would not be having this conversation: she would probably leave him to die, or execute him by her own hand instead.

"...Why am I here?" He asks flatly, voice still a little hoarse.

"In case you haven't noticed, when you're injured, you go to the hospital." She replies sardonically.

He narrows his eyes at her. He knows she knows what he meant. Eventually, she sighs.

"You're here because it's home."

"Konoha is not my home." He seethes.

"Haven't you heard? Home is where the heart is." She is infuriatingly flippant.

"Then my home has been buried six feet under the ground for the past eight years."

"Well, your clan's buried somewhere around here anyway. And stop getting so aggravated. You'll start bleeding again."

"Then stop aggravating me." He grits out, abdomen throbbing with heat. She casually places her glowing hand over his stomach, and the pain gradually fades. Although he would rather not have anything to do with her, he can't help but feel a bit thankful.

"Uchiha," she calls over her shoulder as she moves to leave. "As you can tell, I don't like you. You've put my successor, my pupil, and my top jounin through a lot of shit. But for whatever reason, they still care about you. So no matter how much you try to convince yourself, I doubt that all of your shriveled black heart has been stuck in the past this whole time."

She sheds her patronizing demeanor, and he can tell why they made her Hokage. "We will talk later, after you heal a bit more. Try not to sleep for three straight weeks again."

She closes the door behind her, leaving him to his thoughts.


	5. Meeting

That night, he returns to awareness from his dozing when he feels the ghost of a touch on his face. Alarmed, he reaches up with his good hand to grab it, and opens his eyes to see what it is.

His breath catches in his throat when black meets green.

She is stock still, frozen from his touch, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He takes advantage of her stillness to study her at his leisure.

Her face is still heart-shaped, cheekbones still high and chin still pointed, but the angles are sharper than they had been when she was a child. Her nose is narrow and upturned, her mouth small and pouty, her eyelashes pink and long. Her equally pink eyebrows, thin and straight, sit beneath a high forehead. Her hair is a little longer than it had been when he had left, the tips now barely brushing the top of her shoulders. Her figure is lean and athletic, with long legs and subtle curves around her hips and bust.

Suddenly realizing what he is doing, he snaps his eyes back up to her face, the back of his neck burning. He swallows back a sigh of relief when he sees that she hasn't noticed his... observation. Her eyes have dropped down to her wrist, where his hand still grips it tightly.

"I'm... I'm sorry," she says, fumbling slightly. Her voice is quiet. "I didn't mean to wake you."

The expression on her face is complicated, and she doesn't meet his eyes. Slightly annoyed by this, he asks gruffly, "Why are you here?"

She flinches before her features smooth out again. He wonders what he has said wrong.

"I... Tsunade-sama assigned me to you. I'm here to check on your wounds."

He wonders if he has any wounds on his face.

Slowly, he releases her wrist from his grasp. (The memory of her warm, smooth skin is imprinted in the back of his mind, but he'll never acknowledge it.) She sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping toward her. She twists at the torso to face his body, glowing hands hovering over his abdomen.

She is careful not to touch him.

"You're healing better than I expected." She says to fill the stifling silence. Her mouth is taut and her brow is furrowed. "It was hard enough to salvage what was left of your organs..."

She cuts herself off, and doesn't continue. He doesn't know why. Maybe it was bad manners to talk about someone else's organs?

The silence only bears down heavier. He doesn't know what to say to her. Eventually, her chakra fades away.

"Be careful with your stomach. Don't even think about trying to sit up." She stands from the bed, and turns toward the door. "If you need anything, press the button at your side. It will call over a nurse." She leaves without a backward glance.

She hadn't looked him in the eye since he woke up. He scowls lightly before trying to fall back asleep.


	6. Asking

She comes to his room every night.

She always walks carefully, silent as a wraith. From the window, the moon bathes her in its radiance, giving her complexion a strange glow. She never utters a sound.

She never touches him.

Sometimes, he pretends to sleep, and waits to see just what she'll do. Nearly every time, he feels her hesitates above him.

But then she reaches out, summons her chakra, and leaves quietly when she's done.

When she sees him awake, she freezes.

It only lasts for the span of a heartbeat, but it happens every. Single. Time. Regaining her composure, she crosses the distance between them with hushed steps. Again, she extends her hands, heals him, and runs off afterward.

She never spares him a glance.

He begins to fix his eyes on her every movement when she treats him. She keeps up her unaffected demeanor well, but little things betray her. Like the way her hands slightly tremble under the weight of his stare, or when her brow furrows in anxiety, or how she bites into her lower lip to alleviate her unease.

But she still never looks at him.

And one day, when he is so _sick_ of her painstakingly crafted distance,

"Sakura."

He says her name.

Her whole body stiffens, and her chakra dwindles away. After slowly collecting herself, she murmurs a questioning, "Hm?"

But her eyes stay stubbornly on her motionless hands. His jaw clenches.

Why won't she say anything to him?

Does she resent him?

She never shut up when they were kids, but _now_ she decides to keep quiet?

What is she thinking?

Is she hiding something?

Why won't she just _look_ at him?

_'Do you still love me?'_ his treacherous heart whispers.

He ruthlessly crushes that question out of existence. He doesn't want to know the answer to that.

He turns his head to the side, because he can't bear to look at her when she won't look at him. He waits for her to prompt him to continue. He waits for something, anything.

Seconds stretch to minutes.

Out of his peripheral vision, he sees her hands falter, before she resumes her healing. When she's finished, she walks out the door with a soft, "Bye, Sasuke-kun."

Anger churns slowly in his gut.

**AN: Poor Sasuke. Has anyone noticed? A lot of these start off promising (dreaming of a cute girl, a hot girl molesting him in his sleep, a hot girl hovering over him when he wakes up, a hot girl visiting his room nightly) but they just leave him disgruntled by the end. I regret nothing.**


End file.
